


Something to Think About

by EdgarAllenPoet



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Best Friends, Bisexual!Tamaki, Friends to Lovers, Gay!Kyoya, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Break Up, Roughhousing, The "locked in a room together so they'll talk about their feelings" trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25564939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: "He may have been an open book to the other boy, but some things were best left in the footnotes, and Tamaki’s attention span had never been wide enough for him to read those."--Have you ever been in love with your best friend?
Relationships: Fujioka Haruhi/Suoh Tamaki, Ootori Kyouya/Suoh Tamaki
Comments: 9
Kudos: 152





	Something to Think About

Their third and final year of high school came with a number of decisions to be made. Which universities to apply to, and which entrance exams to prepare for. Which course of study to take-- a year prior, the answer would have been simple: Kyoya would pursue study in business and hospital administration, to prepare him for a role in the family company and a position overseeing the hospitals his brothers ran.

A lot had changed in that year, however, and Kyoya was no longer sure.

He had other decisions to consider in regards to the Host Club as well. When he’d believed it all to truly be ending with Tamaki’s engagement and subsequent announcement, he’d felt a pang of disappointment but also a moment of relief. No responsibilities to the Host Club meant a great deal more time for other things-- study, training from his father, other pursuits.

When the Host Club was saved, well. Kyoya hadn’t expected to feel, once again, relieved. 

But it was still work, now especially in their final year. Tamaki wanted the year to be bigger than ever, wanted a grand opening event to make up for the dramatics of the student fair the year prior, wanted to outdo all of their previous endeavors, say a proper goodbye, exceed expectations.

Well, at least exceeding expectations was something Kyoya had practice in.

But beyond the scope of Tamaki’s vision, Kyoya had greater concerns following graduation. After all, their leaving didn’t necessarily have to mean the Host Club was ending. They were considering new members now that Mori-senpai and Honey-senpai were away to university, and the twins and Haruhi wouldn’t be graduating until a year after himself and Tamaki. Tamaki hadn’t begun prattling on about finding the club a new “prince” yet, but Kyoya knew who they would actually need to be replacing. 

It would need to be someone intelligent, someone studious enough to keep up with the books and schedules, someone personable enough to sway others into cooperating with their plans and convincing girls to attend the club in the first place. Someone who either had vision for the club or could bring to light somebody’s else’s, and well. Kyoya wasn’t sure where to go about finding someone with Tamaki’s vision, so. Kyoya’s replacement would have to be capable of that as well.

It was a daunting task, and not what he needed to be concerning himself with when there were high level classes to master and entrance exams to dominate and pre-university studies to be attending to. His priorities may have shuffled, and his father’s expectations may have been re-stated, but that didn’t lessen any of the pressure.

Now that his father knew Kyoya was capable of meeting his expectations at all, he’d only raised the standards, as well as given Kyoya the liberty of deciding which path in life he’d be taking to meet that success. No, the pressure hadn’t lessened at all. If anything, it was more crushing.

And yet, that still failed to be Kyoya’s primary concern.

That was ridiculous, of course. Kyoya knew what was expected of him, knew what he needed to worry about and where he could apply himself. He knew what was logical and realistic, and yet, he couldn’t quite help himself...

Tamaki and Haruhi had broken up. God knows Kyoya spent most of his school break listening to the two of them-- Tamaki would come to him ranting about some minor drama or drabble; Haruhi would approach him for advice (hesitantly, at first, but after a while getting quite comfortable in Kyoya’s company and taking up Kyoya’s time), claiming that of course Kyoya was the person to ask, he knew Tamaki better than anybody; and then Tamaki would return again to either bemoan the failure of his grand gesture and weep for an explanation of Haruhi’s dismissal of him, or swoon helplessly and gush endlessly about his success in their romance and the fallout there of. 

Rinse and repeat.

Kyoya had quickly begun to feel like a third, unspoken part of their relationship. Just like everything else since he’d been acquainted with the french buffoon, standing in the background developing the plans and serving Tamaki’s whims. Just like always.

What was he even going to do with himself at university?

It was unlikely that he and Tamaki would attend the same institution, and even if they did, it would be a new environment. There would be new people to meet, new functions to attend. Tamaki attracted friends like flies to honey, and Kyoya, well... Kyoya was tired. 

Perhaps he deserved a break. A gap year wasn’t a reasonable desire, but a quiet school of high merit where he could claim some level of anonymity would be break enough. Perhaps he could leave Japan, go somewhere where his family name was an idea without being an all-out identity. It wasn’t like they couldn’t afford him to go wherever he wanted.

Maybe he could go to America, or somewhere in Europe. Their lifestyles were so lackadaisical it wouldn’t even matter if word of his family’s reputation got out. They simply had different concerns.

Kyoya ought to have different concerns. He was getting to distracted. There were short-term goals to worry about, but every time he began to his worries started spiraling without him. He’d think about entrance exams and then reconsider where he was going to apply, and then researching out of the country institutions, and then looking into the laws of student-visas and housing policies and language classes, and then he’d think about leaving Tamaki, and where Tamaki might be attending, and whether or not it was worth it to ask him, and what Kyoya would decide to do if he even got an answer, and what it would mean if he decided to follow Tamaki, and what his father would say about the matter, and....

Kyoya had historically made a number of... rash decisions, where Tamaki was concerned. That wasn’t a pattern of behavior he wished to continue, going into his adult life. He couldn’t let this weakness of his be a downfall. 

It was unrealistic, anyways, whatever enamourment or curiosity he’d developed. He’d expected it to fade away on its own by now, and maybe it had started to, or maybe he’d just grown more comfortable with his place in Tamaki’s life.

And then they’d met Haruhi. 

Overall she’d done them quite a bit of good. She’d been mildly beneficial for the club as a business, but the waves she’d caused amongst the members themselves had been good for rapport. Kyoya hadn’t minded the other hosts terribly before her presence, but well, without her he wasn’t sure he ever would have considered them all friends. 

None of them had exactly been friends before her influence. 

None of them besides Kyoya and Tamaki. 

She’s shown up, and Tamaki had become obsessed, and Kyoya-- in response-- found himself becoming obsessed as well. He second-guessed everything: the functioning of the club and his role wherein, Tamaki’s motivations and Kyoya’s role wherein, his own personal motivations.

He shouldn’t have been jealous. He’d known Tamaki was straight. Why else would Tamaki launch the idea of the Host Club in the first place, if not to flirt with pretty girls and find himself an eventual partner?

And that further raised the question-- why had Kyoya orchestrated it all, when he knew he didn’t have Tamaki’s same motivations? 

It as ridiculous. A ridiculous thing to think about, and a ridiculous thing to fret over when there were so many other things that demanded his attention. It had been quite a while since Tamaki had worked him up so properly. There had been middle school, with the beginnings of their friendship. And there had been the founding of the Host Club, when they realized they’d actually have to learn to cooperate together. And Kyoya had known peace since then, until Haruhi showed up, and he once again found himself coming unwound. 

It wasn’t jealousy. He’d told his sister that countless times when she questioned him, told Tamaki when he raised his own concerns, and reassured his father when he started to grow suspicious. He resented Haruhi, and then reluctantly became friends with her. He appreciated her perceptiveness, her intuition, her candor. He thought he was skilled at reading people, but this commoner surprised him a number of times. He was jealous of her honesty, of her disregard for any consequences in her interactions with others.

And alright, perhaps he was jealous of other things as well.

He hadn’t thought she’d be foolish enough to actually fall for Tamaki’s antics, not until he was watching it unfold helplessly from the sidelines. And then, once the two lovers had moved on from their honeymoon phase, he’d been all too intimate with the idiosyncrasies of their relationship.

And then, of course, he’d been there to pick up the pieces of their devastation. Haruhi had been considerate enough to text him-- which was out of character for her, honestly, he had to wonder whose behavior had rubbed off on her-- and he’d received a simple, three word message just minutes before Tamaki turned up on his doorstep.

“We broke up,” it read.

And he opened his door to find Tamaki sulking on the doormat. Tamaki said, “You already know, don’t you?” and they’d spent a quiet evening on Kyoya’s couch.

Kyoya had wondered what he was supposed to be feeling, as he sat there with Tamaki’s head in his lap and his fingers combing idly through Tamaki’s shiny, soft hair. He’d almost pulled away when he’d realized what he was doing, didn’t notice when he’d initially started doing it. He always surprised himself with the physical affection he was willing to show the other boy. It was prompted, of course, by Tamaki’s own behavior in the first place, but it still felt unnatural. There was no use to this physical affection, no real need for it. Kyoya’s parents hadn’t so much as held hands, from what he could remember.

Tamaki held Kyoya’s hand regularly.

“We should watch that terrible american show you like,” Kyoya had said instead, when Tamaki glanced up at him, teary eyed, puzzled as to why the petting had stopped. Kyoya resumed petting him, and Tamaki sighed heavily. His breath was hot and damp through Kyoya’s pants. 

It shouldn’t have made him feel anything.

“No,” Tamaki had moped, rubbing his cheek into Kyoya’s thigh and causing Kyoya’s heart to stutter. Tamaki was going to give him a heart attack, potentially. It was a good thing his family owned a number of hospitals. “I can’t stand the idea of romance right now,” he’d said, fresh tears trailing down his cheek. “Put on whatever you’d like, I don’t care.”

Tamaki hated the TV that Kyoya liked, and so, to appease the both of them he put on a movie instead. Neutral territory.

He still wondered what he was supposed to be feeling. It certainly wasn’t the heat that pooled in him, not from his _platonic, heterosexual best friend_ simply _platonically_ laying his head on his lap. He had to get that under control. He also shouldn’t have felt any type of joy. Tamaki was crying, his heart was broken, and Kyoya was crying.

Well. He’d known he was heartless, anyways. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. 

The fact that he was _still_ thinking about it, well after the event. That was a surprise. Tamaki had started to heal, and he played it up as if he’d never been heartbroken in the first place. Kyoya wondered if the others could see the subtle cracks just under the surface as well as he could, but well, it would be best for the Host Club if they couldn’t. Dynamics were already shifting and precarious as was. 

_They would only get more precarious if he didn’t get himself under control_ , he thought, as Tamaki appeared out of thin air to drape himself over Kyoya’s back, and Kyoya’s pencil snapped in his grip. 

“Whoa, looks like Mommy needs a spa day,” the twins taunted him, while Tamaki fussed over whether or not Kyoya had cut himself, and Haruhi stared thoughtfully from across the room. 

Kyoya got up to dispose of the shards and wash the ink off his palm. This was their last day to prepare before auditioning new hosts at tomorrow’s meeting. He didn’t have _time_ for this.

He was washing his hands in the sink when Haruhi cornered him in the bathroom.

“You know this is the men’s lavatory,” he pointed out, not looking over at her. “It’s not appropriate for you to be in here.”

“I’ve only ever used the men’s rooms at Ouran anyways,” she countered. “And since when have we worried about that sort of thing, senpai.” 

“Since you followed me in here to ask questions.”

“You’re acting strange,” Haruhi stated.

“That’s not a question.” 

“If I notice, Tamaki’s going to notice,” she said, and Kyoya hated the way his blood ran cold. He finished washing his hands and turned off the faucet. 

He said, “I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about,” as he dried his hands and made an appropriately-paced exit. He was not running away. 

Still, Haruhi called after him down the hallway, voice carrying. She said, “He probably wouldn’t mind, ya know!” 

And well, Kyoya didn’t have time to think about that. Firstly, Haruhi didn’t know what she was talking about, and since she hadn’t said anything bluntly, there was no reason for Kyoya to assume to know what she was talking about either. Secondly, well. It wasn’t an option. It had never been an option before, and it wasn’t an option now. The things Kyoya wanted were unpalatable. And if Tamaki was as good as reading him as Haruhi seemed to think, he would have noticed by now.

He may have been an open book to the other boy, but some things were best left in the footnotes, and Tamaki’s attention span had never been wide enough for him to read those.

No, Kyoya had bigger things to worry about. His classes. The club. Entrance exams. University options. A course of study.

Unless Tamaki came and confronted him outright, he wasn’t going to waste anyone’s time by dreaming.

Which of course meant, merely a few weeks later, that Tamaki decided to confront him about it. 

The school day ended, and a short while later, so did club hours. It wasn’t long before their newest hosts cleared out of the room, and the twins ran off insisting on driving Haruhi home. Soon, it was only himself and Tamaki. Kyoya had his laptop open in front of him, figuring he might as well stick around and get his work done here rather than going home before his night classes. No need take unnecessary trips.

There were several emails in his inbox that needed his attention, some extra work from his father as usual, probably some sort of test. He had an online lab to conduct for his physics class and a discussion board to chime in on, which he detested more than anything else. He had a great deal of work to do, and it didn’t help that Tamaki was sitting across from him, chin propped up in his hands, studying. 

“You’re staring,” Kyoya stated, not looking up from his screen. He’d already read the discussion board instructions and started to type a mindless response, just to have something to do with his hands. 

“You’re keeping secrets,” Tamaki replied, and Kyoya’s fingers faltered. 

“What would make you suspect that?” 

Tamaki’s response was half a grin, a bit of a head tilt. He said, “Oh c’mon, Kyoya, you think I can’t read you by now?” His smile turned more playful, and he said, “Now just come on out with it and tell me. You don’t want to play detective, do you?” 

He waggled his eyebrows. Come out with it. What a funny phrase for him to use. 

“If you can read me so well, why did Haruhi figure it out before you?” He spoke without thinking, and immediately regretted it. Hurt flashed through Tamaki’s eyes, but he rebounded quickly. 

“So you _do_ have a secret!” he cheered, leaping up from the couch and coming to sit next to Kyoya, far too close, in his space pressed thigh to thigh. He grabbed Kyoya’s shoulders and shook him a bit, and Kyoya set his laptop to the side to avoid damaging it. “Tell me, tell me, you have to tell me Kyoya, it’s naughty to go keeping secrets, you know!” 

“Oh lay off it,” Kyoya snapped, shoving Tamaki over sideways and holding him down with a hand on the side of his stupid blonde head. Tamaki laughed, smiling up at Kyoya, and held his wrist gently in both hands. 

He said, “Whatever it is, I’m sure I already know anyways, so you might as well tell me.”

Kyoya didn’t say, “I hope not,” but the feeling was still there. He said, “I suppose it will be quieter to work from home,” and rose from the couch, detaching from Tamaki. 

He gathered his laptop and went to walk away, but Tamaki latched onto his leg and nearly sent him sprawling. His arms pinwheeled, and he caught his balance on the arm of the couch, which put him just off-balance enough for Tamaki to yank him down and wrestle him into the couch.

There was a good deal of swearing and grunting and slapping before Tamaki managed to restrain him properly, catching both of Kyoya’s wrists in his hands and pinning them to the cushion above his head, sitting on his chest and beaming down at him. 

“Gotcha!” he cheered, delighted, while Kyoya’s head swam. His glasses were crooked. His heart was pounding. Tamaki’s hair was falling into his eyes as he laughed. “Now there’s no use being a drama queen, I’ve already got you captured.” He winked. Kyoya’s heart raced.

He’d been close to Tamaki before. He’d been in nearly this exact position before. It shouldn’t have solicited anything new in him now, he wasn’t a _child._ But there were only inches between the two of them, and Tamaki was warm where he was settled against Kyoya’s stomach, his hand was burning where they were wrapped around Kyoya’s wrists, he was so, so close, and what if Haruhi was right? What if he already knew? What if he didn’t mind? Something stirred in him, something hot and low and... 

Kyoya panicked. He bucked up, twisted a hand out of Tamaki’s grasp, and used the surprise to throw them sideways. They rolled off of the couch and hit the floor, hard. Kyoya landed on top of him in a heap, head bouncing off of Tamaki’s chest while Tamaki’s head smacked into the floor. 

“Ow,” Tamaki moaned, melodramatically. “What did you do that for?” 

But Kyoya was _hard_ , and he was lying entirely on top of Tamaki, and he had to get out of there before Tamaki noticed. “Excuse me,” he said, and scrambled to his feet, grabbed his laptop, and bolted out of the room. 

He didn’t have time to think about it. 

A week passed, and Kyoya did nothing but think about it. He took extra precaution to never be alone in the same room as Tamaki, leaving the club meetings when the twins did, getting to school just in time for his first lecture and spending absolute minimal time in the hallways. He ate his lunch in a classroom, and he didn’t answer Tamaki’s texts on his cellphone. 

He felt like a coward. 

He applied to universities, made spread sheets about the entrance exams and application requirements each one required, started drafting a plan of study and ordered the necessary materials online. He planned Host Club events for the rest of the week, sending his drafts to Tamaki via email and ignoring anything in the returning message asking him what was wrong.

It was an incredibly stressful way to be functioning, but Kyoya was good under pressure. He was productive under pressure. This just proved it-- Kyoya couldn’t consider Tamaki a viable option, not if he wanted to get anything done.

A week after that dreadful conversation, he pushed open the door of Music Room #3 and walked inside, notebook already open and distracting him. The meeting would begin in less than half an hour, and everyone else would already be there. Or, so he believed, until he heard the sound of a turning latch from the door behind him, and he whipped around to investigate. He jiggled the handle: locked. 

“You’re ignoring me,” Tamaki said, and Kyoya slowly, reluctantly turned around. 

The room was empty, save for Tamaki, who had red rimmed eyes and his hands stuffed uncomfortably into his pockets. Kyoya stared at him, wordlessly, and Tamaki let out a small chuckle. 

“I just wish you would tell me what I did wrong,” he continued. 

Kyoya felt like his blood was simmering. “You’re smothering me,” he lied, and the look on Tamaki’s face said he was onto him. 

“You’ve never minded before,” he said, and he walked closer. Kyoya, in another act of cowardice, took a step backwards. His back bumped into the door. Tamaki continued at him, until he was close, right there, not enough space for Kyoya to push away from the door without touching him. 

He had that look in his eyes, the easy smile and hooded eyelids that he aimed at the girls during club activities, the look he’d practiced in Kyoya’s bedroom back in middle school, when he’d first talked Kyoya into his idea. 

_“How does this look?”_ he’d asked, voice taking on a foreign tone that Kyoya had never heard from him before. _“Enough to fall in love with me, mi amor?”_ Kyoya had rolled his eyes then, and he took carefully measured breaths now. 

“I just want to know what’s going on with you,” Tamaki said, using that same terrible, stupid voice, and Kyoya couldn’t take it. He shoved Tamaki away. 

Tamaki stumbled the few steps back, and Kyoya pushed himself away from the door so he’d have more room to breathe, wouldn’t feel cornered. He crossed his arms over his chest. Tamaki frowned. 

“No,” Kyoya answered him. “You don’t.” 

“Of course I do!” Tamaki said, voice raised to a shout. “You’re my best friend, you idiot, and you can’t keep keeping secrets from me!” He was going off into those theatrical displays that he was so prone to, obviously not taking this seriously. Tamaki didn’t like taking things seriously. He was good at using these buffers. 

Kyoya was good at deflecting. “Did you look through the designs I sent you?” he asked, instead of responding to Tamaki’s outbursts. He coached his voice into a smooth, indifferent tone. Controlled. He needed a bit of control, these days. “Kauro came up with the designs, and I think they’re rather clever, really.” 

“The designs are great,” Tamaki said, tone hesitant and eyes more so.

Kyoya reopened his notebook and started to fan through it. He said, “He rather has an aptitude for that sort of thing. I’ve been thinking of delegating more tasks to him, since we’ll need to figure out new leadership before the end of the school year.”

He saw Tamaki nod out of the corner of his eye. “Sure...” he agreed. “Do you know where you’re applying yet?” 

“I’ve given it some thought.” Kyoya rediscovered his bravery and walked further into the room, going to one of the tables and taking a seat. 

Tamaki nodded again. It didn’t take long for him to trail over to where Tamaki was. He didn’t sit, instead leaning back against a nearby couch. Kyoya kept his eyes on his notebook, began to write, simply listing the schools he had in the document on his laptop, just something to do with his hands. 

Tamaki said, “It’s exciting to be graduating, isn’t it?” Kyoya gave a nod. He wasn’t so sure. 

“New school, new adventures...” Tamaki went on, and Kyoya only half-listened as he continued to write, tuning out Tamaki’s little speech and wherever he was going with it. Tamaki liked to chatter when he was anxious. Kyoya wished he didn’t feel guilty for being the one making Tamaki feel that way. It wasn’t his fault. Tamaki had trapped him in the room, afterall. 

Tamaki went on, something about the perks of different country’s universities, and Kyoya continued not to listen until he said, suddenly, “Do you think you’ll find a boyfriend in college?” 

Kyoya’s writing paused. He glanced over at him, too quickly, not casually. “A... pardon?” 

“A boyfriend,” Tamaki specified, and he shrugged nonchalantly, but he was watching Kyoya carefully. Kyoya’s blood was pounding in his ears. He said nothing. Tamaki forced that easy smile and playful laugh as he said, “It’ll be easy to find one, anyone would be lucky to have you! And you’ll be far away from home, probably.”

“What are you talking about?” Kyoya asked. 

Tamaki grinned at him, softly. “You’re allowed to want these things,” he said, and that clarified nothing. Kyoya continued to stare, dumbfounded, and after a moment Tamaki’s smile faltered. “Unless... unless I... are you ace?” 

“Am I what?” 

“You know, asexual. I could have sworn you were gay.” 

“You can be both,” Kyoya answered, which was _not_ the correct answer, the correct answer was to deny it, to correct him. Tamaki’s eyes widened to an impossible size. 

“Are you?” he asked. “Both?” 

“I....”

When Kyoya trailed off, Tamaki rushed to the table and dragged a chair to sit next to Kyoya. He put a hand on Kyoya’s knee, thoughtlessly, and smiled at him like he was playing some sort of game. Like he was winning. “Is that the big secret you’ve been keeping, dummy? You know I don’t care, right?”

“I’m not ace,” Kyoya answered him, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

“But you _are_ gay.” He said it like a statement, but it was clear it was a question. Kyoya hadn’t ever said it out loud before. He’d made hints, made a few jokes. _Homosexual or otherwise_. He wasn’t hiding it or anything, he just... couldn’t talk about it. It wasn’t beneficial to talk about it. There wasn’t any point. It would just cause unnecessary drama. He had bigger things to worry about. 

“I don’t see why it’s of any importance whether I am or not,” Kyoya answered, which was at least the truth. Tamaki’s smile wavered, but he managed to refasten it. 

He said, “I think it’s important,” and something sank in Kyoya’s chest.

“Ah,” he said, and thought, _of course_. He carefully scooted his chair back, folded carefully into his own space and put his eyes back on his notebook, forced the evenness into his voice. 

He said, “Well, there’s nothing for you to worry about,” as he began to write again.

“Kyo--”

“And if the others have realized and have any sort of problem with it, well, it’s none of their concern either. It’s not like I’m going around making passes at anybody, and I’d--”

“You could,” Tamaki interrupted. 

“--I’d rather keep it to myself, anyways,” Kyoya finished, and then, “What?” 

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” Tamaki told him, and Kyoya had momentary trouble putting his thoughts together. 

“What?” he asked again, and Tamaki leaned in, and he grabbed his chin, and he kissed him. 

Kyoya shoved him back, tripping out of his chair and stepping quickly away, the feeling of Tamaki’s lips brushing his own leaving a tingling imprint. He asked, “What are you doing!?” and Tamaki stared at him, wide-eyed and startled. 

“I... I was kissing you?” Tamaki responded. “We’ve kissed before. I didn’t mean--”

“That was for practice!” Kyoya argued, because it had been. They were fourteen years old, and curious, and Tamaki wanted to practice so he’d know how to do it properly in high school. For when he wanted to kiss _girls_. It had made Kyoya’s heart pound so hard he’d been nauseous, and he hadn’t done it again.

Tamaki wasn’t like that. It hadn’t meant anything, was just another game, the way everything was a game for him. Kyoya said, “Why would you do that? You’re straight!” 

Tamaki let out a startled laugh, the noise foreign coming out of him. “Since when!?” he demanded, and Kyoya short-circuited.

He said, “Since... since always,” and started to doubt. “You... why else would you want to start a Host Club?” 

Tamaki’s face was heating up in a blush. He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Well, I mean, who doesn’t want pretty girls fawning over them? Homosexual or otherwise.” He tossed a wink. Kyoya scowled. 

“And it was good for making friends,” Tamaki added. “For making connections. You like making connections, so I figured... and it was fun. You deserve to have fun, Kyoya.” 

“It’s work,” Kyoya argued. “The entire thing is work.” 

“You love work.” 

“You dated Haruhi,” Kyoya pointed out, his second argument, and Tamaki grinned a bit and glanced off to the side. 

“That’s when I started to piece it together, actually,” he confessed. “You know I started to have a crush on her when I still believed she was a boy, and at first I thought that it was just her inner, feminine energy shining through, but... Well, I’ve done a bit of thinking, and there’s really no use denying it.” 

“But you like girls,” Kyoya said, awe-struck. 

Tamaki laughed at that, genuine. He said, “Bisexuality is an option, you know. Everyone is bisexual in France.” 

“That’s not demographically possible....”

“You know when I first started to realize it though?” Tamaki pressed on, and he had that look again, his _hosting_ look, and Kyoya really needed him to stop doing that when nobody else was around. “When I met you,” he said. Kyoya needed to sit down.

He walked on numb legs to the nearest sofa and collapsed onto it. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. He did’t want to be thinking about it. Every plan he’d been formulating was getting scrambled before his eyes. he couldn’t think. He couldn’t consider any of this a possibility. 

“You were so nice to me,” Tamaki said, and there he was, sitting on the couch next to Kyoya. “You went out of your way to do things for me, and I know it was just to build our relationship to appease your father, but we spent so much time together! And I started to realize that, when I was spending time alone, that I wanted to be spending time with you instead. So we started a club together. So I’d have a really good excuse to spend time with you.” 

“You...” Kyoya couldn’t process this. “But you dated Haruhi. And... and you dated...” There were others, a number of others, not counting all the girls he’d flirted with during the Host Club, not counting the _woman_ he’d almost _married_.

“ **I was trying to move on,”** Tamaki said, and then he laughed. “But it didn’t work. **Nobody is you.”**

**“** You were trying to move on...” Kyoya parroted, and Tamaki was so close to him. Kyoya could smell him. Could feel the heat of their shoulders not quite touching. 

Tamaki said, “Well, you seemed pretty uninterested. I mean, I didn’t try to be subtle about it, and you never so much as responded.” 

“I did everything you ever asked,” Kyoya answered, going for truth because there was nothing else to lose at this point. “I called you _daddy_.” 

Tamaki giggled manically. “I thought you were just playing along!” Then he beamed. “Wait, does this mean you like me? Is that what you’ve been so weird about? That’s it? Since when!” 

Kyoya’s mind was buzzing. His mouth moved by itself. “Since middle school.” 

Tamaki stared at him, drilling holes in the side of his head, and then his hands were there again, taking Kyoya’s chin, turning his head, meeting his eyes. And then his mouth was against Kyoya’s, and Kyoya’s eyes fluttered shut, and Tamaki broke the kiss. 

He said, “I thought _I_ was supposed to be the dumb one.” 

“You are.” 

“Don’t ruin it.”

He kissed Kyoya again, and this time, Kyoya kissed back. He didn't even have to think about it.

**Author's Note:**

> I took some Z Quill and then started writing this, so if the ending is a little rushed, that's why. Might workshop it later when I have my head back.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I am... a man obsessed. Talk to me?


End file.
